Dastan's Curse.

Two Months Ago:

Through the hallways of the Blanca Palace, a messenger rushed with urgency, his brow furrowed in distress as he clutched a scroll tightly in his trembling hands. The guards stationed outside the grand hall watched his approach, their spears poised in readiness to halt his advance.

"State your purpose!" one of the guards barked, his voice cutting through the tense atmosphere. The messenger halted abruptly, his breath coming out in visible puffs despite the chill that permeated the palace, seeping through every stone and crevice.

"The Royal physician summons the King," the messenger announced, his voice quivering with anxiety. "It is of utmost urgency." He extended the scroll towards the guards, his hands trembling with cold and his fingertips turning blue,. A silent exchange of glances passed between the guards before one of them disappeared into the hall.

Moments later, the guard emerged once more, granting the messenger permission to enter. With a nod of gratitude, the messenger retrieved the scroll and stepped through the heavy wooden doors, which creaked softly in protest as they swung open.

Inside, the grandeur of the King's Hall unfolded before him in breathtaking splendour. The walls, adorned with intricate tapestries depicting scenes of valour and triumph, seemed to whisper tales of bygone eras. The flickering torches cast dancing shadows across the polished marble floors, while the heavy chandelier above bathed the room in a warm, golden glow.

At the far end of the hall, atop a raised dais, sat the throne of the King. Crafted from the finest mahogany and adorned with gilded accents, it exuded an air of regal authority befitting its occupant. And there, upon the throne, sat the King himself—a figure of imposing stature, with crisp white robes draping his form and perfect silver hair framing his weathered face.

His eyes, a deep shade of grey, bore into the messenger with a steely gaze. "What brings you here?" he asked, his voice carrying a certain elegance and weight. The messenger kept his head bowed as he entered the hall, clutching the scroll tightly against his chest, his hands trembling slightly from both the cold of his journey and the intimidating presence of the king.

"Your Majesty the King, I am the disciple of the Imperial Physician, and I bear a message from him. Allow me to read it out for you," the messenger said, his words slow and deliberate, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness.

Azorius, seated upon his throne, shifted slightly, his grey eyes growing more serious and curious. "Is it about Dastan?" he inquired, his expression tightening with concern.

"Yes, Your Majesty," the messenger confirmed with a nod before proceeding to unravel the scroll and relay its contents. His voice was a little shaky but it was enough to relay the news. 

As the dire news of Crown Prince Dastan's deteriorating health unfolded, Azorius's hand clenched tightly around the armrest of his throne, frustration evident in his every movement. "I wish to meet with the Imperial Physician this instant, and summon all the foreign ministers as well," he declared, his voice resonating with authority. The messenger, sensing the urgency of the situation, hurriedly nodded before rushing out of the hall to fulfil the king's commands.

With a determined stride, Azorius descended from his throne, the guards in the room quickly opening the doors to allow him passage. As he made his way through the palace corridors, servants scurried to his side, draping his cloak over his shoulders with practised efficiency.

"I shall be visiting the Osaria palace. Make preparations," he instructed firmly, his gaze unwavering. The servants nodded in acknowledgment, their movements swift and precise as they hastened to carry out their king's orders.

"But before that i must meet my queen. Tell her of my arrival. I have to speak to her." He said this time with a rather gentleness in his heavy stiff voice as he headed towards the eastern wing of the castle. 

The wide windows of the room were draped with double curtains, a thick velvet curtain drawn back and tied to the side of the wall, while the sheer tulle curtains remained closed, allowing dim daylight to filter into the room and mingle with the warm glow of flickering candles. The crackling fireplace cast a cozy ambiance over the scene, illuminating a woman draped in a long velvet gown as she reclined on a couch.

Her long, silvery-blond hair cascaded like strands of the finest silver, framing her delicate features. Adorning her forehead was a thin tiara, its tear-drop jewel nestled between her silvery brows. Her skin, as white as snow, contrasted with her long snowy eyelashes, sharp nose, and small face. With her hands clasped gracefully over her chest, she lay in serene repose until the sound of a knock at the door roused her from her tranquil state.

"Go check who it is," she instructed her maid, tilting her head slightly before closing her calm blue eyes once more. The maid bowed and approached the door, her eyes widening in surprise as she opened it. "Your Majesty," she exclaimed, bowing deeply before stepping aside to allow the king entry.

Azorius entered the room, his gaze sweeping past the maid until it settled on Fleur, his queen, lying on the couch. Only then did the tension in his expression ease slightly. "You may leave," he dismissed the maid, who hastily complied, shutting the door behind her.

Curious, Fleur inquired, "Who was it?" but Azorius remained silent, crossing the room to her side. Gently leaning in, he placed a kiss upon her forehead, prompting her eyes to flutter open and a smile to grace her lips. "Your Majesty, my King!" she greeted him warmly, sitting up on the couch to make room for him.

"You made no sound," she observed, puzzled by his silent approach.

"Did I not?" Azorius replied cryptically, taking a seat beside her and reaching for her hand. His eyes sought hers, their gazes locking as he tightened his grasp around her hand. "What brought you here at this time of day? Shouldn't you be busy with state affairs?" Fleur questioned softly, noticing the unease in her husband's demeanour.

Azorius hesitated, struggling to find the right words. Finally, he took a deep breath and began, "Fleur, my dear, you must listen to me with a calm heart. I am about to tell you something... something very serious." He paused, hoping to soften the blow, but Fleur's intuition had already sensed the gravity of the situation.

"Is Dastan okay?" she interjected, her voice trembling, a tear forming in her eyes.

Azorius swallowed hard trying to steal his gaze but Fleur didn't let him, He shook his head sideways, before responding, "I fear there is only one way to save him. No matter how distasteful it may seem, we have no other choice. So, please... I am here to ask if you will allow it."

A shiver ran down Fleur's spine as she heard the desperation in her husband's voice. Her body shook with fear, and she clung tightly to Azorius's hands. "I cannot allow those people into this palace. They have already wrought enough havoc in our lives; I will not let them do so again," she declared, her voice tinged with fear and defiance.

"But if we do not act, we will lose our son!" Azorius pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion. "It is the only way to save him."

Tears glistened in Fleur's lashes as she shook her head, her resolve unwavering. "Not the Nuria Empire. I refuse to entangle us with them. They are ruthless, Azorius. They are monsters, bloodthirsty beasts. I cannot allow them near my son, let alone agree to his marriage," she stated firmly, her grip on his hands unwavering.

"Then are you ready to bid farewell to your son?" Azorius's voice stiffened, causing Fleur to jolt upright. "There has to be another way!" she protested.

"Fleur, we have spent four years clinging to the hope that there might be another solution, but now we both know there isn't. And time is running out. The imperial physician fears Dastan may not survive the winter. We barely have two months," he pressed urgently.

"It's a choice between the Nuria Empire and death for Dastan, and you have to make it," Azorius declared, his voice weighted with the gravity of their situation.